


Cross Purposes

by Calliatra



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: First Time, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Sweet Revenge, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7156679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/pseuds/Calliatra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Don’t be stupid.” Okay, yeah, not the most diplomatic answer, but man, talk about doomsday scenarios.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cross Purposes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinx_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinx_r/gifts).



There’s always been this line in the sand between Hutch and me that we don’t cross. We act like it’s not there, like there’s nothing for us _to_ cross, but the truth is that we both know what we’re doing. Or, well, not doing. It’d be pretty hard not to, to tell you the truth. Lots of people like to pretend like it’s something they couldn’t ever imagine, but I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who hasn't at least thought about what it might be like. And there’s been enough talk about Hutch and me over the years that we couldn’t have avoided thinking about it even if we’d have never come up with the idea ourselves.

And, well. It made me kind of uncomfortable, to tell you the truth, but it was never anything serious. I knew what a queer was, see, and I knew that that wasn’t me. That had nothing to do with me. So I could laugh it off if anyone said anything about Hutch and me. And if I had a thought or two in that direction myself, well, that was just one of those weird, random thoughts that pop into your head sometimes. Meaningless. What mattered was that we wouldn’t do anything like that, ever. So we laughed.

Until Johnny Blaine. After that, it wasn’t so funny anymore.

I kept thinking about it, even when I didn’t want to. What it was like, for him. What I would have said if he’d told me. What it would be like if it was me. What it would be like if it was Hutch and me.

It scared me. I mean, it really scared me. ‘Cause I was feeling all these different things at once, and I was pretty sure none of them were what I was supposed to be feeling. And all that time, Hutch didn’t seem scared, didn’t seem to have a problem with it at all. That scared me even more.

I didn’t handle it too well, I guess, but if we’re being honest, neither did Hutch. We screwed up, is what happened. We forgot about ‘me and thee.’ We had some bad times, really bad times, sometimes, and a couple of times, we almost split up.

And then I got shot.

They say that dying changes you, but for me, it was the part that comes after that. You take a couple of slugs to the chest and you survive, you’re going to have one hell of a time trying to come back from that. It’s blood, sweat, and tears, and that ain’t even the half of it. It’s misery, plain and simple, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I can’t say that I coped with it well. Hutch would tell you different, but he’s still half-crazed with relief, so don’t listen to him. I was a miserable bastard, and I took it out on him. So when I finally grew some brains again, when I looked up from my own mess of all that hurt and frustration and anger and he was still there, that was it for me.

Let me tell you, I felt just like the Grinch at the end of the story when he suddenly sees how great Christmas is. I could feel my heart growing three sizes, just looking at Hutch. There he was, tired and pissy and all kinds of hurt, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Wasn’t leaving me, ever.

So of course I had to tell him I loved him, right that second. Had to make sure he really knew that. Ended up scaring him half to death, ‘cause he thought I was dying again, or thought I thought I was dying. It took a while to calm him down, and he was still giving me suspicious looks for a couple of days afterwards. But I hardly noticed, ‘cause I was busy just loving him so much. (And trying to learn how to walk again. Physical therapy is a bitch, let me tell you.)

But as soon as I’d had some time to digest it, I realized it wasn’t all that strange, really. I love Hutch. Well, what else is new. Okay, I love him more than I thought— Or, not more and not really differently, either. Just… so _much_ that it feels crazy to say that it has to stop somewhere. And you know what? I don’t want it to stop. I want Hutch, all of him, or as much of him as he’ll let me have. And if you’re thinking that’s all well and good in the abstract, but there’s some physical realities that would put a stop to it, well. I thought about that. Started paying attention to Hutch, to what he feels like, and what I feel like when he touches me. Started doing some thinking about it, too, whenever he wasn’t there. And without getting into the dirty details, let me tell you, there’s no way he could touch me that would send me running.

So yeah, I want to cross that line. And I don’t see any reason not to, not anymore. The bad stuff in life is _so_ bad, I think, that you have to grab as much of the good stuff as you can, whenever and wherever you can. What Hutch and me have is the best thing either of us have got going, and if you ask me, I think adding some grabbing to it is going to make it even better. Now all I’ve got to do is get him on board with the plan.

 

* * *

 

I didn’t think it’d be that hard. I mean, all you gotta do these days is look at the guy to see how much he loves me. It’s like this joy he can’t contain. Pretty flattering, actually. I’ve been out of the hospital for months now, and even pretty well able to get along on my own these last weeks, but to look at him when he gets home every afternoon, you’d think I’d just woken up from a coma again.

And don’t go telling me it’s just that pure, brotherly love stuff. I mean, sure, that’s a part of it, but trust me, he loves me every bit as much as I love him. Like I said, we both know what we’ve been carefully ignoring. We’re always stepping around that line, it feels like, some days. All those ways we hold back, or pull away. I can’t be the only one getting tired of that.

So I figured I’d just wait for the right moment and then make my move. That simple.

 

* * *

 

As if anything with Hutch has ever been simple. Oh, believe me, I find the perfect moment, that’s not the problem. That’s not the half of it.

We’re both sitting on the couch after dinner, full and comfortable, and watching some documentary about animals in Thailand. Hey, did you know that they have really dangerous poisonous centipedes there? Just imagine being killed by a centipede. Anyway, we’re watching that, and these monkeys come up. Or, not monkeys, apes, they said, but don’t ask me what the difference is. They sure look like monkeys to me. They’re called gibbons, and they live in trees, and it turns out they almost never come down from them. They find all their food up there and everything, and they can jump and swing their way from one tree to another. It’s pretty wild.

So I ask Hutch, “What do you think it’d be like if we were gibbons?”

And, well, you gotta know what Hutch is like when he’s happy. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference for you,” he says, and he points to a dark and pretty shaggy one who’s scratching his ass. “See, that one’s got your hair and your manners already.”

‘Course, I know this game. I love this game. “Yeah? Then you’re that ugly one there with the weird beard.”

“Just how d’you figure that?” He does that eyebrow-raising thing that he thinks makes him look all superior. Really it just makes me want to laugh and hug him. But maybe that’s this whole being-in-love thing.

I grin, ‘cause I know exactly how to win this. “‘Cause he almost got his ass handed to him by that angry big one till my one kicked the big one's ass. He’d be a goner without him.”

“A goner, huh?” He’s got that look in his eyes, like he’s kind of looking for a challenge.

“Yup.” All I need now is my most charming grin. “A total lost cause.”

And Hutch just smiles, all sappy-like. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” See, I told you he’s still half-crazed.

Well, you can’t find a better moment than that. Hutch is looking at me with pure love shining all over his face, and on the TV the animal guy is saying that gibbon apes mate for life. So I lean in, all gentle like and smiling, and…

Hutch leans away.

Yeesh. If you’ve ever had that happen to you on a date with a chick, you know it’s bad. Real bad. Best thing you can do is pretend it never happened, and spend the rest of the night trying to figure out what you did wrong, and if you should try again. Worst thing you can do is turn it into a scene.

But, man, this isn’t some chick, this is _Hutch_.

“Hutch?”

He’s leaning back against the couch, and he’s got his eyes closed like he’s hurting bad. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t sound like he means he’s sorry for not getting with the program quick enough.

Well then, that’s that. That’s what Hutch wants. Or doesn’t want. “Yeah. Me too, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

I guess you can imagine we didn’t have the best night, after that. I was doing a lot of quiet hurting – or sulking, if you want to use Hutch’s words – and Hutch was doing a number with the silent suffering routine. It was tense.

 

* * *

 

But at some point there’s only so much I can take. Because this is important, dammit, and at the very least I gotta _know_. I got a right to know.

“Why?”

“Why what?” He’s pretending like he’s really caught up in the TV, when actually he hasn’t even noticed that I switched it from the documentary to the horror flick of the week.

I glare at him.

He sighs, like he’s dragging up the last of his strength, or patience, to tell me something I should already know. “It would kill us.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Okay, yeah, not the most diplomatic answer, but man, talk about doomsday scenarios.

Hutch gives me that look of his that says that everything is awful and my problem is that I just don’t get it yet. “Starsky, were you really thinking that this, us, could work?”

“Yeah, I was. I am.” Yeah, I’m defiant, and I’m not sorry. It’s one thing if he’s lecturing me about the future of society or something, but this is _us_.

“Starsky, think about it. We know we make good friends, yes, but—“

“Oh, _good friends_ , is that it?”

“You know what I mean. What we’ve got, _me and thee_ , that’s perfect, that’s spectacular, but anything beyond that would be risking everything. And what for? I’ve never been down that road, and don’t try to tell me you have. What if we go for it, and it turns out we don’t like it? Or, worse, _one_ of us doesn’t? What then?” He shoves himself up off the couch and starts pacing up and down.

I open my mouth, but he just points a finger at me.

“Or what if we do like it? What if we like it enough that we decide that’s the way it is with us now? And then it turns out it was only a passing thing, and we really miss women? That we’re not cut out for that life? Or it doesn’t, but we’re still not cut out to be together that way, and we end up hating each other?”

“Yeah, well, what if we don’t? What if everything doesn’t go wrong, and all we end up is happy?”

“It still wouldn’t last long.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” It’s times like this I wonder if all that raw food stuff he eats is doing a number on his brain.

“Think about it, Starsk. What would it mean, huh? Say we really do work well together on that level. Say we go full throttle on the happily-ever-after. Then what? We couldn’t tell anyone. We can’t let anyone find out. It would end our careers. But what if they do anyway? What if someone finds out and then tries to blackmail us? We have enough enemies. Could we really risk letting them ruin our lives? Or are we more likely to cover our asses, say we’re making an exception just this once? Except of course it won't be just this once, it’s another time, and another, and pretty soon we’re exactly the kind of crooked cops we hate. And once we’re crooked, does it ever stop? Would it really matter anymore if we take a bribe if we’re already looking the other way for someone else? But how long do you think we could live with ourselves like that until it would destroy us both?”

“We’ve never had trouble putting away blackmailers before, without anyone getting hurt.” I know I’m scowling. I can’t help it. He’s counting on the worst-case scenario, and I don’t like that, but he’s also got a point, and I don’t like that even more.

“Fine. Say we don’t get blackmailed, or we manage to deal with it some other way. We’d still always be looking over our shoulders. We’d never be safe anywhere because we can’t afford to let our guard slip even once. So we gotta be careful about everything we do. We can’t live together, because that would be a dead giveaway. We can’t be ourselves in public, because what if someone suspects? That was only harmless when we didn’t have something to hide. We gotta still pretend to date girls, to keep up the illusion, and we'll probably end up hurting some of them. And we can never have a home, or a family, or kids. No, we gotta keep half our lives in the shadows forever. How long do you think we could do that? How long do you think we could keep that up before one of us snapped? Before we started blaming each other for our unhappiness? Before we started hating each other?”

He’s facing me again, breathing heavy, and he looks very lost for a moment before he drops back onto the couch.

“Believe me, Starsk, it’s not worth it.”

And I might, except he looks like the absolute picture of misery. Like a kid who had his favorite teddy bear taken away, and is trying to put up a strong face. And suddenly I realize I’ve been looking at this whole line business completely the wrong way.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” I say slowly.

Hutch glares at me like he’s daring me to pretend he’s alone out on this limb. “And you haven’t?” He's firing his sarcasm full-force. 

But that’s not what I mean at all. “Well, I’ve put a lot of _feeling_ into it.”

“Oh, great.” Hutch snorts.

“Yeah, it is,” I insist.

“Right, so instead of thinking about it, you just want to—”

“You wanna know what I think?” It’s my turn to wave a finger in his face. “I think you’re full of crap.”

That sure gets his attention. And his bluster, but it’s my turn now.

“I think you’re scared. And that’s fine. I am, too. Anything this important should be scary. But you’re not being reasonable about the risks, you’re just collecting reasons we shouldn’t even try.”

“Starsky, those are real things. Real problems!”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m not saying you’re completely wrong. But they’re not as bad as you make them look.”

“You don’t think we’d have to hide? You don’t think anyone would want to blackmail us?”

“Oh, sure. But I also think we’ve got a lot more friends than you’re letting on, and a lot better chances of making it through.”

“That’s absurdly optimistic, even for you, Starsk. And it assumes we’re going to work out in the first place. That we won’t realize, oh, half-way through that there’s _something_ pretty important missing, if you catch my drift.” There’s a nastiness to his tone that means he’s feeling on the defensive. Good. But I’m not about to let him mess with me like that.

“You gonna tell me that in all that thinking you did, you didn't even once take the time to think about that part? What it would be like, with us, together?”

He looks away, and I can see the blush creeping up on his face. Boy does that do a number on me. But I gotta stay focused.

“Yeah, I thought so. I did, too, just so you know, and I got some pretty hard evidence that we’d do just fine together.” I smirk at Hutch, who’s trying to scowl at my pun, but really blushing even more. And if there was ever any doubt that I want to get my hands on him, it goes out the window right there.

“That’s not much of an argument. Just because you think everything’s going to be fine—”

“Yeah, I know, you’re too damn stubborn. We could argue about this all day and you still wouldn’t change your mind. That’s why I’m not arguing.” Hah, beat that!

“Then what do you call this?”

“Exposition. Softening you up. Whatever it is that gets your dumb arguments out of the way and gets you to try _feeling_ something instead of always _thinking_.”

“And then what? Where’s that supposed to get us?”

“The truth.”

“Yeah? And that’s what, exactly?”

“That you’re lagging behind, lover-boy. You’re not caught up with the scene. Your arguments don’t matter because we’re way past that already.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

"You keep saying that this is a line we shouldn't cross. But, Hutch,” I gotta make sure he’s looking at me for this, because this, this is the important part. ”We’ve already crossed it.”

He raises an eyebrow and pointedly drags his eyes over my body. “I think I would have noticed that, don’t you?” It’s hot, but he's not going to distract me. I’m on a mission here.

“It’s not about that. There’s more than one way to shine a sheep, babe, and we just happened to do it differently.”

“What?” Hutch narrows his eyes.

“Look, think about what you were saying. Now think about this: Neither of us has dated a girl in months. We already spend all our time together. We even live together.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, I know, that’s only because I needed the help getting around after the hospital. But that ain’t the question anymore, Hutch. The question is, do you honestly want to move out again? Go back to being on your own? Go home every night to an empty apartment, or a girl who hardly knows you?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You wanna know something? I don’t. It’s done. Whether we go where you don’t want us to or not, you’re the most important person in my life. There’s no one else I’m ever going to be closer to. No one else who’s been there through all the rough stuff with me. No one else I want. No one else who could ever come close.”

“Yeah,” he rasps, looking at the carpet.

“See, that’s all that matters, ‘least to me. How I feel. How you feel. And I think we both crossed that line, the feeling line, a long time ago. We just didn’t notice. And we’ve been killing ourselves trying to be what we’re supposed to be, instead of what we are.”

Hutch is rubbing at his fingers, still examining the carpet. “That doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

“Yeah. It means it doesn’t matter if you are or you aren’t. We’re already stuck on this ride together.” I let that hang there, then grin at him. “Might as well enjoy the fun part.”

Oh yeah, there comes that beautiful blush again. But of course it’s still not enough to snap him out of that doom and gloom imagination of his. “Starsk—”

“Look you wanna know what it boils down to? I can deal with anything, as long as you’re there with me. And I don’t wanna deal with anything if you’re not.”

That’s about as soapy as I’m willing to get, and Hutch’d better appreciate the effort.

He takes a deep breath. “I think—”

Well, I’ve had enough of that. I grab his shoulder and swing one leg over both of his, until I’m straddling his lap. That’s about as athletic as I'm up to being at the moment, but it’s all I need. It gets me up close and personal, with Hutch’s hands on my arms right away to steady me, the mush ball.

“ _I_   _think_ you do too much of that. How about we try it my way instead, huh?” I lean forward real slowly, my eyes on his. “Hey, Hutch. D’you wanna kiss me right now?”

His eyes flick down to my lips, and I lean in even closer.

“D’you think that feeling’s ever gonna go away?”

I give it two heartbeats, but it only takes one before he hauls me in the last few eights of an inch and shoves his tongue down my throat. _Finally_.

“I was going to say, ‘I think you’re right,’” he pants, when we have to break for air.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, maybe not those words exactly—”

I lean in again and shut him up.

 

* * *

 

And that’s that. Well, the parts I’m going to tell you about, anyway. I do think that Hutch is right, and it ain’t always gonna be easy for us. But I also think it’s the only way for us, and we’re gonna find a way to make it work. Just look at what we’ve gotten through so far. Compared to that, this is going to be a piece of cake. A piece of very, very delicious cake, in fact. That I’ve got to get back to now, if you’ll excuse me.


End file.
